


tangled state of mind

by Elizabeth (anghraine)



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Family, Brother-Brother Relationships, Brother-Sister Relationships, Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 14:49:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12038172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anghraine/pseuds/Elizabeth
Summary: Korra is born years earlier, the third child of Yakone.





	tangled state of mind

**Author's Note:**

> ikkinthekitsune prompted "AU in which Korra is Noatak and Tarrlok’s younger sister; Yakone finds out his daughter is the Avatar and the consequences thereof?"

Noatak and Tarrlok were almost exactly three years apart, both of them born on frozen, starless nights, blizzards howling around the village as their mother fought to give birth. Korra, though—bright, bold, ferocious little Korra—screamed her way into the world at the height of spring, even as the worst plague in memory crawled across the Earth Kingdom. Tarrlok, the youngest, was already eight, and he remembered it perfectly: he and Noatak, almost sick with fear, running pointless errands that some adult imagined might distract them, Noatak’s fingers digging into his shoulder, painful and reassuring, and then their father ordering them to come inside the tent and see their new baby sister.

To Tarrlok, Korra had been impossibly tiny, her nose and mouth, hands and feet, dwarfed by everyone else’s, even his own. Her eyes, though, wide and blue, seemed to fill up most of her face, and her brown hair poked up in little tufts. He and Noatak stared down at her, fascinated.

“What’s her name?” said Noatak.

“Korra,” their mother told them. Tarrlok smiled, a little shakily, down at her.

“Hi, Korra,” he said. “I’m Tarrlok and this is Noatak. We’re your brothers—your big brothers.”

The thought of being  _anyone_ ’s big brother was still strange.

“Do you want to hold her?”

Tarrlok flinched. He would have stepped back, too, but Noatak wouldn’t let him (and poked him in the side). “I’ll drop her!”

“Of course you won’t,” said Sura. “Hold out your arms, just like—that’s right.” She laid the blanket-swaddled baby into Tarrlok’s trembling arms. Korra, who he’d rather expected to start shrieking in reasonable panic, didn’t even respond except to blink sleepily up at him. She hardly weighed anything.

“She’s so  _little_ ,” he said. Noatak reached over his shoulder to touch Korra’s small, curled-up fist.

Sura laughed, softly enough that Korra didn’t seem to hear. “She’s a baby! She’ll need both of you to look after her. That’s what being a big brother means. You have to be strong and brave and always take care of your sister.”

Noatak nodded so quickly that his tails swung into his face. Tarrlok tried to imagine himself as a fierce older brother like Noatak, and couldn’t quite imagine it. But he  _had_ to be. His baby sister needed him.

“I will,” he said.

Everyone knew it was the children born in winter who became waterbenders—the strongest waterbenders, anyway. Over the first few years of Korra’s life, Noatak and Tarrlok grew quiet and nervous, and more skilled than all the other waterbending children (and in Noatak’s case, than anyone at all). They remained affectionate older brothers to Korra. As assorted animals twisted, bowed, cowered, under their hands, they doted on her all the more. Tarrlok played with her for hours on end. Noatak, over ten years Korra’s senior, and so grave that he seemed still older, did his best to stand in for their father, who had little interest in a small, inarticulate daughter who likely wouldn’t even bend.

The little sparks of normalcy in their life all seemed to revolve around Korra: taking care of her when Sura was too busy, guiding her first toddling steps, soberly enunciating words for her to hear, calming her when she got upset, entertaining her—Noatak would plop her down in his lap and whip up a water globe between his hands, holding it just out of her reach, then letting her poke at it. Even after he’d become cold and distant to everyone else, he would let Korra drag him into her games of Hunt-the-Polar-Leopard. (Tarrlok was her noble steed. Noatak was the polar leopard.)

It was Tarrlok, though, who spent the most time with her. Korra didn’t seem quite as ridiculously young to him, and he understood being the youngest, small and weak and disregarded, and determined to be better someday. Korra was, if anything, even more restless, kicking anything in reach of her boots, shifting impatiently as he fixed her hair like Noatak’s, glaring at Yakone as his gaze slid over her. When Tarrlok carved a tiny spear for her, she played with it enthusiastically, hunting snowmen. He was surprised that it survived as long as it did—two days. He replaced them constantly, trying to make better and stronger ones; by the time Korra was three, the toy weapons were simply miniature versions of real ones.

One day not long after her birthday, Yakone, Noatak, and Tarrlok found her waiting for them, a spear in one hand, a boomerang stuck in her belt. She was furious when Yakone told her to go back, kicking a nearby rock so hard that it split down the middle.

“You’re too small, Korra,” said Noatak, in that faintly condescending way he had, sometimes.

Korra’s eyes narrowed, even as her mouth pursed into a pout. “I’m  _not_ —”

“Go help your mother,” Yakone ordered, and Korra’s entire face began to crumple. In anybody else, she’d have been about to cry. Korra—well she might cry too, but not before she flung herself into a shrieking, punching rage.

Yakone had already turned away, gesturing for the boys to follow him.

“You’ll be bigger soon,” Tarrlok said. He tried to smile, but only half his mouth really moved; he would never say so, but he desperately hoped that Korra would always be left out of this part of their lives. Maybe it meant that nobody else would ever understand, but—that was all right. Yakone paid so much more attention to Noatak, anyway, that it wasn’t all that bad. Korra, though, that was different. She  _was_ too small.

By the time they returned home, Tarrlok was tired and miserable. Noatak, striding confidently in front of him, reminded him in an odd way of a turtleseal trying to pull back inside its shell. Yakone ordered them to run along, and Noatak all but ran for the cliff where he, or he and Korra, often sat for twenty or thirty minutes together. She wasn’t there now, so Tarrlok left Noatak to his brooding and went looking for their sister.

He found her sulking behind their tent, tossing a few stray rocks around. 

“Hi, Korra,” Tarrlok said, trying to make himself sound cheerful. She threw another stone. “What are you—”

He stopped dead. As Korra turned towards him, the last rock she’d thrown froze in the air, suspended from nothing.

“What d’you want?” she asked.

Belatedly, the rock fell to the ground. Now he could see that three more whirled slowly above her left hand.

“What—how—” Tarrlok stared down at her, his mind almost too frozen to think. Korra was an  _earthbender_. But that wasn’t possible. They were Water Tribe, all of them. Was there something from Yakone’s side? He’d said all his family were bloodbenders, and that meant waterbenders, really.

Tarrlok’s eyes widened still further.

 _You must avenge me_ , Yakone had told them, over and over, until Tarrlok scarcely understood the words any more.

“What?” said Korra. Her chubby fingers closed around the stones and tossed them aside. Tarrlok swallowed.

“Korra,” he said, kneeling down so he could look straight in her eyes, “can you move anything else through the air like that?”

She considered him, her thin brows still drawn a little together. Then her pout broke into a wide, toothy smile and she swung her arm away from her body, towards him. A flurry of snow flew right into Tarrlok’s face. He sputtered, bending the snow aside and blinking it out of his eyelashes.

Korra was a waterbender. And if she was an earthbender and a waterbender, that meant—that meant  _Korra_ was the Avatar. His sister. His baby sister. How many times had their mother told him how important it was to take care of Korra? At least as often as their father had told him that he had to destroy the Avatar, that it was the only reason he’d been born. But not Korra, he couldn’t—

Tarrlok squeezed his eyes shut, then covered his face for good measure. He could feel a sob clawing its way out of his throat, like the whimpers of the wolves he’d bloodbent earlier that day. But they were dumb animals, weaklings, he had to be strong. He bit down hard on his lip, hands shaking against his wet face.

Korra shuffled towards him. “Don’t cry,” she said. “It was a funny!”

Dropping his hands, Tarrlok looked at her. Her eyes were wide, all the irritation drained out of her face. It didn’t matter who she’d been before, he thought. She was his sister. But their father—well, he’d never liked her very much. If he found out, would he see anything but his enemy, reborn right under his nose? Maybe. Maybe he’d see another bloodbender.

His fingers closed over his knees. “Sorry. It  _was_ funny,” he said. “But you can’t do it around other people. Not any of it—with the rocks or any water. It’s really important.”

She was nodding, cheerfully uncomprehending, but already something in him whispered  _not good enough_.

“Just—Korra, stay here, okay?”

He scrambled to his feet and raced as fast as he could towards Noatak’s cliff, slipping and sliding and finally just waterbending over the snow. He ignored the odd gazes he got from their neighbours and the village yak, panting as he caught sight of his brother.

“Noatak! Noatak!”

Noatak just tightened his arms around his knees and ignored him.

“Noatak, you’ve got to help—” Tarrlok was half-bent, gasping for breath. “It’s Korra!”

His brother finally glanced over his shoulder. “What about her?”

“I just saw her earthbend!”

A small, silly part of him enjoyed the total confusion that shattered Noatak’s look of unconcern. “You saw her  _what?_ ”

“She was floating these rocks in the air. I saw her, Noatak! And she bent snow at me—she’s a waterbender, too.”

Noatak sprang up. “You’re sure?”

“Yes! She’s the Avatar! And Dad—”

Their eyes met in shared horror. Tarrlok felt a rush of relief; he’d been nearly certain, almost completely certain, that Noatak would see things like he did, but he wasn’t the same about bloodbending, and—well. It was good, that was all.

“C’mon,” Noatak said briefly.

They walked back together; Noatak refused to run, and stopped to smile at the old ladies who asked if anything was wrong, assuring them that Tarrlok had just been in a hurry to tell him some good news. Tarrlok’s heart was pattering in his ears when, finally, they got home and found Korra just where he’d left her, frowning at a squarish snow tower and then kicking it down. She glanced up at them and grinned.

“No’tak!”

“Hey, little sister,” Noatak said, striding over to her and swinging her up into the air. Korra laughed, while Tarrlok looked nervously over his shoulder. “You better show me what you can do.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I can do lots.”

Noatak set her down, then pulled a stream of water out of the snow, reforming it into a tiny sphere with a flick of his wrist and holding it in the air between his hands. He’d shown her the move hundreds of times, if not more—Korra had always loved watching them bend. “Can you do this?”

Kneeling, he held out the water to her. Korra bit her lip, glanced from Noatak’s encouraging face to Tarrlok’s own. Then she reached out and took the sphere from him. It wobbled, but kept its shape, casting a dim, erratic blue light over her palms.

“See?”

“Great,” said Noatak. “And you can do it with rocks, too, right? Can you show me that?”

Korra tossed the water aside with a careless splash—both her brothers winced—and rather more confidently, punched her fist through the air. A rock at her feet shot straight at them, flying over their heads as they ducked together.

She beamed.

“All right—all right,” Noatak said.

Korra looked up at him expectantly, and he took a deep breath. Tarrlok could hear it shake, a little, as if something else had taken over Noatak’s body. His voice, though, was very calm when he spoke.

“That’s great, Korra. I’ve never met anyone who could bend two things. Have you, Tarrlok?”

Tarrlok, not trusting himself to reply, just shook his head.

“Actually, it’s so special that I don’t think we should tell Mom and Dad yet.”

She started to scowl.

“It’ll be a surprise!” Noatak ruffled her hair. “Won’t that be fun? I’ll tell you when to show them, and Mom’ll be so happy, and Dad …” He glanced at Tarrlok.

“He’ll be really surprised,” said Tarrlok.

Korra smiled again. “Okay!”

“But you’ll have to keep it secret,” Noatak told her. “You can’t bend around them, or around anyone but me or Tarrlok. It’ll ruin the surprise if Kuva across the road sees you and tells Dad. And you can’t talk about it.”

She chewed on her lip, thinking it over. Tarrlok couldn’t help but wonder how much she even understood. And even if she did, what would she remember? How could they possibly hide the Avatar?

“If nobody finds out,” Tarrlok said quickly, “we’ll teach you to bend like we do. And I’ll save half of my jerky for you everyday.”

“Okay!” said Korra.

Later that evening, after Korra had gone to sleep, Tarrlok went looking for his brother. Noatak was practicing a short distance from the tent; Tarrlok, who knew better than to surprise him when he was waterbending, loudly cleared his throat.

Noatak dropped the water.

“Will it work?” Tarrlok said. He didn’t bother clarifying.

“Maybe. For a little while.” Noatak crossed his arms, frowning down at him. “Not long. She’s too young—maybe we could hide it, if she were particularly quiet and, and obedient, but …”

Tarrlok heard a laugh: his. “Right. Korra.” It probably would be easier if she were—like that. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to wish her different. He loved the sister he had, not the vague idea of one that might be more convenient. “Then what’s going to happen?”

“Dad’ll find out.” Noatak picked the water back up, absently switching it from snow, to water, to ice, to steam, and then back again. “Maybe he’ll want to train her, too. She’s a waterbender.”

Tarrlok had to keep himself from wildly shaking his head. “I don’t think she’d like it much.”

_She’s not like me. She’s brave; she’d just refuse._

“That, or he won’t change his mind about—” Noatak’s blank expression shivered, turning almost frightened— “the Avatar. It might not matter that she’s Korra, you know. He’s never cared about her, anyway.”

“You think he might hurt her?”

Noatak scowled at his water, which obligingly froze into long, narrow slices of ice. “We’re her brothers. We can’t let him.”

“Of course not,” Tarrlok said, and Noatak’s face went calm again. “If he does still want to get back at Avatar Aang—through Korra, I mean—well, what are we going to do?” His father loomed, dark and gigantic, in his mind.

Finally, Noatak turned to look at him, ice continuing to float behind his head. “He can’t bend. One of us can distract him. The other one will have to grab Korra and run. Whoever’s first can catch up later.”

Tarrlok caught his breath. He’d imagined running away hundreds of times. But there was his mother and sister, and Noatak, always silently shielding him from Yakone’s attention, and the wide frozen wastes beyond their village, so he’d never done more than imagine it.

He frowned. “What about Mom?”

“What about her?” said Noatak, his eyes narrowing.

Tarrlok blinked several times. It wasn’t that Noatak didn’t  _care_ about their mother, he told himself. It was just—just that Yakone was different with Sura. He loved her as much as he loved anyone. He probably wouldn’t hurt her, even if he didn’t have Noatak and Tarrlok and Korra around. Besides, she was a grown-up woman. Korra was  _three_ _._  She needed them more than their mother ever could.

Silently, he shook his head. “Nothing. She’ll be okay.”

“Good,” Noatak said, and went back to his waterbending.

As it happened, they managed to hide Korra’s bending for a full three months. Korra seemed largely unperturbed by the secrecy in which they taught her a few basic forms, or by their obvious anxiety. They did their best to keep her away from their father’s attention at all times; Tarrlok had never thought he’d be grateful that Yakone rarely ever noticed Korra. More than once, he or Noatak kicked Korra to remind her, then slid her some bribe. She turned four, and Yakone still had no idea that the Avatar lived under his own roof, his blood in her veins.

It was not long afterwards that she threw another fit when, yet again, Yakone refused to let her accompany them on their then-weekly hunting trip.

“Stop it, Korra,” he snapped. “You’re too weak—go inside. I won’t tell you again.”

“I’m not!” she said, and before they could stop her, punched one clenched hand through the air.

For a fraction of a second, Tarrlok thought she’d meant to hit Yakone, her aim going awry. Then a small flame burst from her fist, stopping just short of their father’s knees.

Tarrlok froze, horrified, unable to move even once the flash of firebending had disappeared. They’d expected it—well, maybe not her opposite element at four, but Korra betraying herself sooner or later—but expecting wasn’t at all the same. It was only when Korra dropped her fist and glowered up at their father that he let himself glance away.

Noatak looked stunned.  _Not for real_ , some cool, distant part of Tarrlok’s brain thought. Yakone, though—he didn’t look anything at all, particularly. Just stared at Korra, without a word. After what must have been a full minute, and felt much longer, her defiance gave way. She lowered her hands and glanced unhappily at Noatak and Tarrlok.

Tarrlok found his voice. “It’s okay, Korra.” Ignoring both father and brother, he scraped up a smile.

Years afterwards, he still thought it was the bravest thing he’d ever done. At any rate, his voice seemed to break through their father’s shock. His head whipped around to stare at Noatak, still suitably taken aback, and Tarrlok, who didn’t have to pretend to be frightened. Then his eyes settled, again, on his daughter.

“So,” he said, his tone even rougher than usual. “So … yes, you’re right. Tarrlok. Tell your mother that Korra will be coming with us.”

Selfishly glad for the respite, he ran to the tent, where Sura was putting away her healing scrolls. She glanced up, brows furrowing.

“Tarrlok, what is it?”

“Dad—” Tarrlok’s voice broke off, like an icicle snapping. He tried again. “Dad wanted me to tell you that Korra’s coming with us.”

“Really? Well—if he’s sure, I suppose it’s fine.” She smiled at him. “You don’t have to be so frightened, sweetheart. I don’t mind.”

Tarrlok looked into her soft purple eyes and, despite everything, almost gave up right there.  _Korra. We have to look after Korra_ , he reminded himself, but couldn’t help hugging her. What if—who knew what was going to happen? He might not ever see her again.

“I’m not afraid,” he lied, and thought that it might be the last thing she heard him say. “I love you, Mom. We all do.”

“I should hope so!” said Sura.

Tarrlok couldn’t look at her again. He fled outside, taking his place on Korra’s other side. She seemed both pleased with herself and nervous, casting wide-eyed glances up at Noatak, who just laid one hand on her shoulder, the gesture almost absent. Tarrlok smoothed some snow off her hair, like Noatak used to do with him, and smiled again, as reassuringly as he could. Together, all three of them marched after their father.

Nothing particularly horrible happened that night. With Korra, they made slower timer than usual, and even Noatak was exhausted by the time they set up camp. Yakone tiredly informed them to get what sleep they could. They’d be practicing all day tomorrow.

The next day began dim and chill, and only grew darker as the clouds grew heavier, snow falling thickly around them. Yakone hardly spoke, just stared at Korra with a look colder and more distant than anything that had ever crossed Noatak’s face. Tarrlok could hardly eat, and didn’t know if it were more comforting or terrifying that Noatak’s appetite seemed little better.

Yakone couldn’t be thinking of her as another bloodbender, Tarrlok thought, helping Korra shove her hands into her gloves. If he were, wouldn’t he be—well, not happy, but at least encouraged? It had to be … something else. He pulled Korra’s hood over her wolftail, throwing an anxious glance at Noatak, over her head. His brother lifted his eyebrows, his expression challenging.

Tarrlok’s hand tightened on Korra’s shoulders, then relaxed after her muffled complaint. He nodded at his brother.

In the end, it was very simple. Yakone led all three of his children out to a wide stretch of flat, heavily snow-packed ground, devoid of any other life. There were certainly no animals to bend. Then he explained that humans, especially benders, would always be more difficult to control than dumb beasts. They could never be master bloodbenders until they could control a powerful bender.

Korra frowned uncomprehendingly, but Tarrlok understood. It was  _them_ _._  He was going to make them bloodbend each other. Noatak? He thought of the yaks’ eyes rolling in terror, the wolves whimpering. Could he do that to Noatak?

“There is no other bender,” said Yakone, “more powerful than the Avatar. And here she is.”

Tarrlok’s eyes widened. No, he hadn’t understood at all.

“First, Noatak, then you, Tarrlok.” Yakone gestured at his elder son, stepping away from all three children, arms folded over his chest. He’d never seemed quite so tall or menacing to Tarrlok, more like something out of his nightmares than a real person.

Noatak and Tarrlok looked at their sister, small and bewildered, and very human. The Avatar—someday, perhaps.

“No,” Tarrlok said.

Yakone’s pale blue eyes, just like his, like Noatak’s, like Korra’s, settled on him. “What did you say?”

“We won’t do it,” Tarrlok said. He hardly remembered the plan, and his heart pounded a sharp, painful beat in his chest. He dropped his arm around his sister’s shoulder. “Not to Korra.”

Yakone stalked forward a step, then another, and every instinct in Tarrlok’s body told him to back up, give way, anything. He dug his heels into the snow.

“You’re a disgrace,” Yakone said, “a weakling.”

“He’s not!” said Korra, her face pugnacious. “Stop it! Stop—go away! I hate you!”

She kicked one leg out, another, larger flame flashing towards Yakone, who flinched away and then glared down at them, features twisting. Tarrlok stepped closer to her, his grip tight on her arm. He didn’t dare look away to see what Noatak was doing.

“I’ll teach you a lesson,” Yakone said, and even Tarrlok didn’t know which one of them he was speaking to. He raised his fist. “You insubordinate little—”

Then he screamed, his body arching backwards, and Noatak was there, flinging himself in front of Tarrlok and Korra.

_“Stay away from them!”_

Even if Tarrlok had dared to think about what “distract” would mean,  _bloodbending their father_ would never have crossed his mind. Holding his sister tightly against his side, he stared, aghast, at Yakone, reeling at Noatak’s feet. In that moment, he wasn’t sure whether his father or brother frightened him more.

“How—dare—you—bloodbend me?”

“What are you going to do about it?” said Noatak, shoulders straightening. He hadn’t so much as lifted a finger. His voice went still colder. “You’re the weak one. You always say bloodbending is the most powerful thing in the world, but it isn’t.” He waved his hand at Korra, shivering against Tarrlok’s side. “The Avatar is. She’s the one who took your bending away, before. What could be more powerful than that?”

“I made you … what you are,” Yakone grated out. “You’re mine!”

Tarrlok dropped his eyes, ashamed. Of course Yakone was worse, far worse, than Noatak could ever be—Noatak! who’d protected him his whole life, and Korra after him, who was protecting them both now. And they weren’t … it wasn’t … and Korra, Yakone had nothing to do with what she was.

“We’re your  _children_ _!_ ” said Noatak, outrage spilling over every word. “Not your tools of revenge!”

Korra’s face seemed bewildered, angry, frightened, and he remembered. A distraction. Noatak glanced once over his shoulder, quick and urgent, and Tarrlok mouthed,  _east_ _._  Then he swung Korra up into his arms—normally, she’d have struggled and protested, but now she just wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on. Tarrlok ran as fast as his legs and his bending would take him, trying not to hear whatever Noatak was shouting at Yakone.

He ran without knowing exactly where he went. All he could think about was getting away and keeping Korra safe, even as she grew heavier and heavier in his arms.  _Come on, Noatak_ , he thought, but didn’t stop.

It was only a few minutes later that he heard a shift in the winds shrieking around them. Tarrlok turned his head to see a cloud of snow approaching, which quickly resolved into a tall spout of snow. He stopped, gasping, and Noatak spun himself back onto the ground.

“We’ve got to keep going. You’re both all right?”

Tarrlok nodded. Korra moved her head very slightly, peering at Noatak. Her lip wobbled.

“Here, give her to me,” said Noatak, and let Korra clamber onto his shoulders. “It’ll be an adventure, Korra!”

She nodded off before they’d walked a half mile. Tarrlok was trying not to yawn. They had a long way to go; he couldn’t even imagine how far.

“Dad?” he said.

“I tossed him as far as I could. He’s probably looking for us now,” said Noatak. He inhaled, then let out the breath in a puff of steam. “Not that it’ll do any good.”

“You’re sure?”

Noatak nodded, and lifted Korra down to his arms, where she drowsed against his shoulder. “We’ve gotten away from him, all of us. Forever. We’re free!”

Tarrlok thought of their mother’s face. He blinked quickly. They’d protected Korra; that was what mattered.

“Yes, Noatak,” he said.


End file.
